


Scorching Hot Threesomes and Silent Co-existence: Harry Potter’s Guide to Life Post-Voldemort

by ellebesea



Series: Eighth Year OT3 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Friendship, Frottage, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Masturbation, Nonconventional Relationships, Oblivious Harry, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-05-28 06:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19388344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebesea/pseuds/ellebesea
Summary: Honestly, he's not sure how he should feel about the events of last night, but his cock doesn't seem the least bit confused. His first time, beyond a few handies behind a greenhouse or shed, and it was a threesome with his gorgeous best friend and - he might as well admit it - the hottest guy he's ever met.Or: the sequel to Hermione Granger and the Day Ron Weasley Called her a Slut. Hermione is still a badass, Ron is slightly less foolish, Draco Malfoy manages to convey a whole lot without saying much, and maybe, just maybe, Harry will get a clue.





	1. ONE.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Hi y’all, this is the sequel to Hermione Granger and the Day Ron Weasley Called her a Slut. It’s much longer (and much later) than I’d ever intended, but I genuinely like this fic, and I hope y’all do too. Shout out to everyone who showed me love in the comments! You’re the real MVP’s.
> 
> I don’t know why the chapters are so short, so here: have two.

**ONE**

The morning after Ron called Hermione Granger a slut in the Eighth Year Common Room, Harry wakes up groggy, confused, and distinctly erect. He'd slept restlessly all night, plagued by dreams of an angry, visibly pregnant Hermione accusing him of having taken advantage of her. They'd not, to Harry's recollection, used any contraceptive charms last night before both he and Draco bloody Malfoy had come inside her without so much as a by-your-leave. What was going to happen now? How was he meant to ask? Normally he'd be asking Hermione's advice, but of course that's not possible now.

Seriously, what had he been _thinking_? He needs Hermione, has relied upon her for years. And now, he's lost his virginity and potentially impregnated a girl, and he can't even talk to either of his best friends about it. Fuck.

Harry never should have done it, but even as he lay in his bed admonishing himself for getting into this situation, he remembers. He can very clearly recall how it had felt to have Hermione's impossibly slick and hot pussy spasm around his dick. Honestly, he's not sure how he should feel about the events of last night, but his cock doesn't seem the least bit confused. His first time, beyond a few handies behind a greenhouse or shed, and it was a threesome with his gorgeous best friend and - he might as well admit it - the hottest guy he's ever met.

He's a bit torn on the notion that Draco Malfoy is the hottest guy he knows, but again, his prick is decidedly for it. Malfoy, with his sharp nose and prominent cheekbones and miles and miles of pale skin. The very same Malfoy who had bent right over last night and shown Harry his dusky little arsehole without any prompting whatsoever.

Remembering this, Harry finds himself slipping out of his pants and shoving back his blankets. He should be getting out of bed right now, but he's feeling like this won't take very long at all. Harry spreads his legs and gets a firm grip on his achingly hard prick.

Harry had thought that he'd considered all of the possible reactions to his ongoing campaign to Draw Malfoy's Attention to His Cock, but last night hadn't once crossed his mind. These days, Draco Malfoy rarely does anything without proper planning, so Harry can only conclude that Malfoy had been considering showing Harry his arse for some time now. Does that mean Malfoy wants him to _touch_ his arse? Would it be alright if Harry maybe spanked it a little? A soft grunt escapes his lips as he pictures just that: Malfoy's arse jiggling while Harry smacks it, again and again. Would Malfoy like that sort of thing? Would he moan like he had last night, when he was buried deep in Hermione’s cunt? Would he let Harry touch his hole between spanks? Maybe Harry could even slip his finger inside, just a bit. Harry squeezes his own cock and moans quietly, thinking about Malfoy's tight little hole gripping his finger. In his mind, Malfoy whimpers, and it sounds so real that Harry opens his eyes -

And Malfoy is there, having silently parted Harry's curtains. He stands, already dressed in his pressed white shirt and trousers, looking down at Harry with his mouth open and his cheeks pink. As Harry watches, he licks his lips and tugs the blankets down more for a better view.

Is Harry meant to stop? That's generally what one does when caught wanking after all, but this isn't anything like that time Neville had caught Harry in the bathroom in the middle of the night 6th year, trousers around his ankles and a finger up his own bum. Malfoy's literally eaten Harry's come, and-

Oh fuck, Harry's close. The hungry look in Malfoy's eyes as he watches Harry's fist move is only pushing him further along. He's embarrassed at being caught, of course, but he's also maybe been fantasizing about this all term. And potentially even longer than that.

Draco Malfoy is standing above him, and he's not quite managing to sneer - the loveliest blush is spilling across his nose and cheeks - but Harry's prick appreciates the effort. His hand speeds up and a moan slips out, drawing Malfoy's gaze to meet his own. He looks surprised, turned on. Needy. Nonetheless, he tries to imitate his usual self and snaps, "Hurry it up, Potter." His voice is notably huskier than usual.

Yeah, that's doing it, Harry thinks, palming his balls a bit.

"I'll not be missing breakfast because you're in the mood to show off your cock. Again," Malfoy informs him, and he almost sounds as annoyed as the Malfoy in Harry's fantasies. Except he's a bit breathless and his prick is very obviously fattening up within the confines of his trousers.

That's when it gets much better than Harry's fantasies, because Malfoy swiftly stuffs two fingers into Harry's open mouth, pushing deep. "Suck," Malfoy commands, and hearing the obscene word in Malfoy's crisp tones has Harry's eyes squeezing shut.

He moans loudly around Malfoy's fingers, sucking greedily and pumping his hand over his prick. He's going to come, really, _really_ soon.

"Bet you love that, don't you, Potter," Malfoy spits harshly, voice breaking in the middle, and it sends Harry crashing right over the edge. He comes hard, and loudly, gagging a little on Malfoy's fingers and not at all minding.

If Malfoy's fingers are enough to make Harry feel this way, he can only imagine what it'll be like to stretch his mouth wide around Malfoy's fat prick. Harry's dick spurts a little more come at the thought.

Holy fuck, how is he now meant to get out of bed and start his day? He's feeling much more inclined towards a nap, to be honest, but he doubts Malfoy will allow it.

Malfoy withdraws his fingers, eyes burning with satisfaction and desire. Slowly, he drags them through the streak of come where it's spattered across Harry's belly and brings them to his mouth for a taste.

"Jesus, Malfoy," Harry croaks. He doubts that will ever get old.

Malfoy looks for all the world as though he's enjoying a tasty dessert, humming and licking his fingers clean. When he's done, he adjusts his prick in his trousers and glares down at Harry. "Get _up_ , Potter," he snaps, very nearly sounding like himself again.

Harry groans, grumbles, and heaves himself out of bed.

\---


	2. TWO

**TWO**

When Harry emerges from the bathroom, freshly washed and mostly dressed, Malfoy is adjusting his hair in his (entirely too ornate) mirror. Harry hasn't said - and has no intention of doing so - but he quite likes the way Malfoy has cut back on the hair products of late. He's given up the severe slicked back look for a side part, and just enough potions to keep it neatly in place. His pale hair looks so fine and soft, and Harry can hardly wait until he gets an opportunity to actually touch it.

If he gets a chance at all, that is. Does a silent coexistence - with benefits, apparently - lend itself to that sort of touching? It seems rather intimate, now that he's really considering it. Is hair-touching more, or less, intimate than standing over someone's bed and watching them have a wank? Maybe he can ask Hermione about this, if not the other thoughts crowding his mind this morning.

As Harry ties his tie and fumbles his school robes on, it occurs to him that Malfoy is not, in fact, busy getting ready. He does a passable job of seeming to, but it's becoming increasingly clear that Malfoy is actually just waiting for him. Oh, Godric, is Malfoy going to want to _talk_ about last night (and this morning)? Harry hopes like hell that won't happen. What on Earth would he say, anyway?

His worries are in vain, though, because once he's finally ready, Malfoy just picks up his book bag and silently follows Harry out the door and down the stairs. More silent coexistence, then. Harry finds this comforting, in light of what he'll likely have to deal with today.

When they get to the Common Room, though, Ron is waiting. It is, of course, Ron's turn to have breakfast with Harry. Merlin fuck, maybe Harry should have taken the time to talk with Malfoy after all. At the very least, he could have mentioned the need for discretion.

It’s not as though Harry actually believes he can keep this from Ron for long; though he may be given to moments of extraordinary dickishness and the occasional bout of ghosting, Ron _is_ still his best mate. He knows just about everything there is to know about Harry, up to and potentially including his recent interest in showing off his dick to Malfoy. 

That said, he'd still like to put this particular revelation off for a while, if at all possible.

Luckily, Ron is distracted by his own awkward circumstance and has yet to notice anything amiss. “Mornin’, Harry,” he says pensively, rising from his seat and falling into step with them. “Malfoy,” he greets after a moment, tone oddly devoid of animosity. 

“Hey.” Harry nods at Ron the same way he always does. 

“Weasley,” Malfoy says, smirking faintly as always. 

They've left the Common Room and are walking down the stone hallway toward the Great Hall before Ron looks around and says, “I think I’ve really cocked things up with Hermione, mate.” 

Malfoy snorts loudly, but says nothing. 

“Ron...” Harry’s not even sure where to start. “What the hell were you thinking?” He’s aware that, under normal circumstances, he’d be much angrier with Ron. Normally, they’d have a proper row and maybe even not speak to one another for a week or two. It’s just that it doesn’t seem fair to kick up such a fuss now, considering the manner in which he’d so thoroughly enjoyed the benefits of Ron’s blunder last night. It’s hard to still be mad about it, if he's honest. 

Ron shakes his head, staring at the ground as they walk. “Honestly, not sure I was thinking much of anything.” 

“That much is readily apparent,” Malfoy remarks drily, though hardly snide at all. 

Harry says, “Look, mate, you told me that this whole breakup was meant to be temporary, that you had every intention of getting back together with her. But at this point, you'll be lucky if she ever speaks to you again." 

Ron scratches his head distractedly. "Yeah, but. I'm starting to think that maybe I don't want her back?" It sounds like a question. 

"Because she fraternizes with Slytherins??" Malfoy bursts out incredulously. 

"No, not that," Ron dismisses, as though he hadn't publicly condemned Hermione over that very issue the night previous. 

They've made it to the Great Hall at this point, though, so Ron doesn't immediately finish his thought. Half of the students turn to watch their every move, and Harry and Ron do their best not to notice. This is their new normal, since the war. It's fine, really. 

Once they're seated at the 8th year table, Ron erects a mild privacy charm to prevent eavesdroppers, and even lip-readers, from learning anything said. This, too, is their new normal. 

It's less normal that they're including Malfoy in the privacy bubble, but Ron can be flexible when he wants to be. "What I meant was: maybe I never wanted her back at all. I mean, you said it yourself: I'm hardly likely to get her back by insulting her. It seems a bit like I was sabotaging any opportunity for reconciliation, doesn’t it?" 

Harry considers this as he piles his plate high with fluffy eggs and several rashers of bacon. He hums skeptically, certain there are better ways to let a girl know things are over for good. 

Malfoy finishes chewing before he speaks up almost neutrally. "It does seem that way, yes." 

Ron nods, and doesn't bother to finish chewing before responding. "Maybe it was just time for things to end. I mean, I care about her and all, but it didn’t feel like I'd always thought it would, you know?" 

Harry does know. Pretty much nothing in his own life has turned out according to his expectations. He's still not entirely sure how this relates to Ron's treatment of Hermione, though. 

Several minutes pass as they eat. Finally, Ron asks, "Was it like that with you and Ginny?" 

Harry reflects for a moment, hyper-aware of Malfoy closely watching him. He's always like this when Ginny comes up in conversation, but Harry tries not to overthink what that may mean. "Well, yes, in the sense that it didn't much feel like I'd expected it to. But did I break up with her under false pretenses and then sling sexist insults at her in front of our peers?" Harry gives him a pointed look, and finally Ron begins to look appropriately sheepish. "No, it was not like that, and if it had been, you'd have kicked my arse from here all the way to London." 

It seems that that thought had not previously occurred to Ron. He looks bewildered. "Didn't really think about that." He rubs the back of his neck and looks down, thinking for a bit. "You can, you know,” he says when he looks up again. “Hit me, I mean. If you want." 

"Look, Ron." Guilt roils in Harry's belly, and he's in serious danger of confessing when Malfoy stamps on his foot under the table. Harry jumps and turns to glare at Malfoy. 

Malfoy glares back, mouth pointedly shut. 

A cold splash runs down Harry's opposite arm, and he turns back to find that Ginny Weasley has approached from behind and upended an entire glass of pumpkin juice over her brother's head. 

A dripping Ron yelps and splutters beside him. 

Harry takes down the privacy charm in time to hear Ginny yell, "You called Hermione Granger a _what_??" 

The entire Great Hall is watching them now, and the 8th years who had witnessed the events of the previous evening are visibly entertained. Harry hardly feels he deserved to be splashed as well, but the part of him still offended on Hermione's behalf is soothed by the sight of his drenched, stuttering, and humiliated best mate. 

"Ginny!" Ron finally manages to say, uselessly trying to wipe pumpkin juice from his eyes. 

Ginny's expression is more thunderous than Harry's ever seen it, and she hisses at her brother through clenched teeth. "What kind of person takes a girl's virginity, breaks up with her when she doesn't sleep with you as much as you'd like, and then has the bloody nerve to call her a slag in front of everyone she knows? You'd better _fix this_ , Ronald Weasley, and fast! Or I'm telling Mum!" 

The blood drains from Ron's face and he stares at his sister in open horror. 

Up at the Head Table, Headmistress McGonagall's lips are pursed disapprovingly. "Five points from Gryffindor for disrupting breakfast," she says crisply, ostensibly to Ginny. Her icy glare is directed at Ron, though. 

"Worth it," Ginny mutters, glaring at Ron once more before stomping away to Gryffindor table. 

Malfoy stares after her admiringly. "Potter, why on Earth did you break up with that delightful young woman?" 

\-- 

Malfoy and Harry walk to class alone, as Ron had to run up for a quick shower. Even a good Scourgify would have left him rather sticky at this point. "Thanks," Harry says quietly. He hates to be grateful to Malfoy, but needs must. "For, you know, not saying anything about last night." 

Malfoy turns to look at Harry as though he's said something particularly dim-witted. "Do you honestly think Granger is likely to let me anywhere near her spectacular little cunt again if the first thing I did was run and blab about it to her ex?" 

Aghast, Harry whips his head around to make sure no one is within hearing distance. They're in the clear, but he has to say it anyway: "Shut up, Malfoy." It feels good, almost comforting, to say. 

Of course, put that way, Malfoy's seemingly kind silence makes much more sense. It came from pure, unadulterated self-interest. Malfoy wants back into Hermione's knickers, is all. He's probably, even now, thinking only of fucking her again with his fat prick, making her moan and come and... 

And now Harry's going to have to walk into Transfigurations with a halfie. He glares at Malfoy. 

"As if you aren't gagging for another go," Malfoy responds unapologetically, rolling his eyes. 

Harry frantically tries not to remember how it had felt to gag on Malfoy's fingers not two hours ago. He’s also valiantly trying not to think about having another go with Hermione. They're rounding the corner to the classroom and the thought of McGonagall catching sight of his erection... 

Is enough to make him rapidly, dizzyingly flaccid. Which is for the best, really. 

Inside the classroom, Harry takes his usual seat beside Hermione. For a moment, he's terrified that he won't be welcome - either because he'd carelessly come inside her last night with neither warning nor permission, or because he'd sat with Ron at breakfast not 12 hours thereafter - but then she looks up at him with her usual smile. 

His anxiety flees just like that. 

"Good morning, Harry!" she greets as always, closing the book she'd been reading. The reassuring normalcy fades again, though, as she turns to look at Malfoy behind them. "Good morning, Malfoy," she says, voice slightly deeper, slightly more mischievous. 

"Good morning, Granger." Malfoy flashes her a filthy grin that has Harry's prick perking up again. 

Harry is suddenly certain that it will be a long, frustrating day. 

\-- 

He's right, of course. Hermione and Malfoy manage to flirt in utter silence throughout double Transfigurations, lunch and Herbology. Between the heavy looks, suggestive handling of dirt and quills and wands, and - Godric, he doesn't even want to think it - _seductive sandwich eating_ , Harry is fit to burst by the time the two of them take off for Ancient Runes together. Harry, who has a free afternoon, practically races up to the Eighth Year dorms. 

Unfortunately, he is waylaid in the Common Room by Ron. Harry takes a good look at the frustration, worry, and guilt on his best mate's face and says a bitter goodbye to his plan of furiously masturbating for the next 90 minutes. 

He sighs and sits down. Ron bloody well owes him for this. 

"Mate, you've got to help me fix things," Ron pleads, looking quite pitiful. He's had a rough day, Harry knows. A number of upper year girls - several of whom aren't even friendly with Hermione - have worked together to make Ron's life hell. He'd been sneered at, hit with tripping jinxes, sabotaged in class, and called number of rude names all day. 

But it isn't just sexual frustration that leads Harry to say, "No, mate. You've got to fix this yourself." When Ron looks stricken, he elaborates: "You're my best mate, Ron, but this isn't the first time you've torn Hermione down just because you're confused about your own feelings. You need to make this up to her, and she'd be less than impressed to learn that I'd helped." 

Ron runs a hand through his hair, considering this. 

In the ensuing silence, Harry wonders just how furious Ron will be when he learns about last night. Considering Ron's current turmoil, there's a good chance Harry's got another week or so before Ron notices. But that's only if it doesn't happen again. And when one takes into account the signals Hermione and Malfoy have been sending out all day, to say nothing of his assisted wank this morning, it seems nearly inevitable that they'll do it again. It's rather unlikely Harry will be able to keep repeated instances of sex with Hermione and Draco bloody Malfoy secret for very long, all things considered. 

Harry is so caught up in his ruminating that he doesn't realize Ron is watching him closely until he speaks up. "Wouldn't exactly help your chances, either, would it?" 

Harry blinks a few times as he tries to return to the present. “My… what?” But as he says it, he realizes with growing anxiety that he knows exactly what Ron means. 

Ron raises his eyebrows at Harry. “Your chances with Hermione.” When Harry begins to bluster out an utterly unconvincing denial, Ron cuts him off. “Please don’t claim you aren’t interested. I know you, Harry.” 

The thing is, Harry and Hermione have always been friends first. He cares about her, loves her, and would very obviously not be here without her having repeatedly saved his arse over the years. He knows her dreams, her ambitions, and the things that keep her up at night. That’s what best friends do. Sure, he’s noticed that she’s beautiful and smart and possessing of a gorgeous body; who doesn’t know when they’ve got a hot best friend? 

Anything more than that, though, he’d viciously suppressed. He’s done so for so long that sometimes he forgets the feelings are there at all. 

Caught out and awash with guilt, Harry nods, just barely. He shouldn’t be surprised that Ron knows, but he is. “I’m _sorry_ , Ron,” he says, and he really means it. 

It’s not so much that he feels he should apologize for the way he feels about a brilliant girl like Hermione. He just can’t shake the feeling that whatever exists between the two of them has played a part in the demise of Ron and Hermione’s relationship. Had Harry subconsciously sabotaged his friends? 

Somehow sensing the path Harry’s thoughts have taken, Ron scoots closer on the couch and elbows Harry. “Don’t, mate. This situation is hardly your fault.” Harry’s skepticism must show on his face, because Ron goes on. “For years, you’ve said nothing, _done_ nothing. Even when I acted like a jealous arse and bailed on you in the middle of the forest during the scariest year of our lives. When you needed me. You had every right to, but you didn’t. Or am I wrong about that?” 

Harry shakes his head emphatically. “No, I didn’t. I _couldn’t_.” He’d been too angry, too lost, too afraid that Ron was right and that Harry really was leading them all on a path to destruction. He couldn’t have possibly made a move on a girl like Hermione in the midst of that, best friend or no. She’d deserved better. Besides, she’d had her heart set on Ron at the time, and Harry’d still been entertaining fantasies of coming home to Ginny. He’d been holding out for their happily ever after. 

So much for that.

“Exactly, Harry. This isn't your fault. You’re the best mate a guy could ask for. Better than I deserve, probably,” Ron assures him, sounding rather downtrodden toward the end, and that’s it for Harry. 

“I slept with her,” he blurts, cringing immediately. 

Ron goggles at him speechlessly for at least a minute. “What?” Harry is relatively certain he need not repeat himself though. “But you just said…” 

“That I hadn’t. Last year. But I did. Last night.” He’s still cringing. Silence reigns for several minutes. Harry wonders if Ron is about to hit him, but is otherwise feeling surprisingly calm. He’s relieved, even if this is all about to go to shit. 

“Bloody hell,” Ron whispers finally. 

Harry nods feelingly, not looking at him. They sit in silence a bit longer, only peripherally aware of the few other students passing through the Common Room. The evening is starting to get cooler, and Harry absentmindedly lights a fire in the hearth.

Masturbation would have been a far more enjoyable use of his time. 

Eventually, Ron speaks. “I was working my way towards giving you my blessing. I was going to tell you not to wait too long, because a girl like Hermione isn’t going to sit on the shelf for very long... guess that’s unnecessary now.” 

“A bit,” Harry admits sheepishly. 

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron says again, sounding angrier this time. 

“I’m-” well, sorry isn’t _quite_ the word, is it? “I didn’t mean to!” Harry exclaims, and it’s the truth. 

It also sounds patently absurd. They look at each other for a moment before they both burst into laughter. Ron is guffawing, stuttering breathlessly about ‘accidental sex’. Harry’s belly laughter is a bit at himself, but primarily born of relief. Surely if he and Ron can still laugh together, they'll be able to get past this. 

When they subside a few minutes later, Ron punches Harry’s shoulder, none-too-gently. “Didn’t mean to,” he mocks, but that just sets them off again. 


	3. THREE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thanks to all of you for your comments and kudos and bookmarks. I'm going to do my very best to post the next chapter in fewer than 3.5 months *facepalm*

When their laughter finally dies all the way down, Ron looks pensive. Harry suggests a game of chess, because that always helps his best mate sort out his thoughts, but Ron says no thanks. He needs time, and takes off without telling Harry where he’s headed. 

Harry sits by the fire, feeling oddly solitary in the half-full Common Room. All things considered, that conversation had gone as well as it possibly could have. Ron is a notorious hothead, and it might have gone drastically worse. He’s still got about 40 minutes before Hermione and Malfoy come back from Ancient Runes – assuming they don’t stop off in a darkened corridor to make good on the unspoken promises they’d been making at each other all day – but his original plan of jerking off is looking rather less than enticing right about now. 

He and Ron will get past this, Harry knows. It may take a while, but Ron will come around sooner or later. He always does. It’s just that they’ve all survived a bloody war, and against all odds, Harry is here. He’s alive, and he’s mostly sane, and he’s even had a bit of a post-Horcrux growth spurt. And now he’s lost his virginity in a scorching hot threesome, but instead of being toasted by his mates, he’s sitting alone by the fire feeling utterly out of sorts. 

\-- 

Harry jolts awake sometime later with Malfoy standing over him. His Charms textbook is in his lap, there’s a crick in his neck, and for some reason, Malfoy looks almost... fond? Harry rubs his eyes because, clearly, he is not fully awake. But no matter how much he shakes himself, and even discreetly pinches himself, Malfoy still seems to be hiding a tiny smile for the duration of their walk down to the Great Hall. 

Harry tries not to think on it too much. After all, he’s quite sure that smile will be gone entirely once Malfoy learns what he’s done. It’s alarming to learn that somehow, without noticing, Harry has started having to answer to Draco Malfoy of all people, but Harry has enough on his mental plate for today. He shelves this thought for later examination. Preferably, much later. 

Surprisingly, Ron elects to sit with them at dinner. Unsurprisingly, it is the most awkward meal of Harry’s entire life. All things considered, that’s saying a lot. 

Malfoy catches on rather quickly, to his credit. Not five minutes in, he hisses, “Potter, you bleeding idiot,” from the side of his mouth. Harry counts himself lucky that Malfoy leaves it at that. 

When Hermione rises from the other end of the table and leaves, Harry makes a hasty excuse about needing to go to the library and scampers off behind her. She hardly seems to notice his presence at all, but Harry sits with his best friend and Goldstein and Nott and MacMillan and scribbles a very rough draft of his Transfigurations paper for a while. It’s not his best work – parts of it not even legible – but makes for a nice enough distraction. 

Hermione sets her quill down with an air of finality sometime later. Harry’s attention is immediately caught, and when she looks at him with eyes alight, his own quill more or less drops to the table. 

_There are some serious perks to hooking up with your best friend_ , Harry thinks, grinning, as they hastily put their things away and leave the library without saying a word to their study companions. 

Out in the hallway, Hermione says, “Thanks for joining me, Harry. You really should come to the library more often.” She’s said it to him probably a thousand times, but instead of sounding like yet another lecture from his brainy best friend, the invitation sounds almost illicit. Harry has to work not to hasten his steps toward the Common Room. 

Hermione smirks at him like she knows what he’s thinking – and to be fair, she likely does – and picks up the pace herself. Harry laughs and does the same, and soon they’re racing up the stairs and pelting down hallways like firsties trying to elude Filch and Mrs Norris. Her curls fly behind her, free and wild, and Harry feels something bubbling up within him at the sound of her unrestrained laughter. 

Hermione beats him to the portrait, but only because she shoves him aside at the last moment. She gloats a bit as she stops to catch her breath and pat down her hair, caramel skin flushed. Harry, struck by the strongest urge to get her all disheveled and out of breath all over again, eyes her appreciatively. 

Why someone as gorgeous as Hermione – whose options are literally endless at this point – is choosing to spend her time with Harry is beyond him, but he’s certainly not about to question her on it. 

He says the password, only belatedly recalling the awkward the tension he’s been avoiding once the portrait has already swung open. To his immense relief, there appears to be a very contentious game of cards taking place in the Common Room. There is much shouting and shoving, and good-natured insults are being slung back and forth. Amidst the chaos, hardly anyone notices Hermione trailing Harry upstairs to the room he shares with Malfoy. 

He’s only about two steps into the room when Malfoy launches at Harry out of seemingly nowhere. Malfoy shoves him against the wall, bumping Harry’s head against the stone painfully. He considers protesting, but. Malfoy’s body is pressed all along his front, slim and hard and lean, and he’d quite like to see where this is headed, first. 

“Potter, you _fuck_ ,” Malfoy gripes, diving in for a biting kiss. He sweeps in, all lips and teeth and invading tongue, and Harry just. Lets him. Malfoy’s kiss is angry, consuming, and really doing it for Harry just now. He feels Malfoy fist a hand in his hair and tug firmly, and then Malfoy pulls back to glare straight into Harry’s eyes. “You are _such_ an insufferable arsehole. I must be insane-” he breaks off to kiss and bite his way across Harry’s jaw. 

Harry turns his head to shoot Hermione a look, but she’s already perched on the edge of Malfoy’s desk, watching them with a glint in her eyes. Something about her heavy gaze makes Harry feel hot all over. 

Malfoy pulls away again, looking aroused and irritated in equal measure. "Absolutely out of my mind,” he continues, shooting Harry another searing glare before dropping entirely out of sight. 

Blinking, Harry looks down and – oh Godric – finds that Malfoy is on his fucking knees, grey eyes fastened to the obvious bulge of Harry’s cock in his uniform trousers. “Oh my God,” Harry says weakly. 

Having anticipated a row, and possibly even an exchange of hexes, Harry finds himself quite mystified to be looking down upon a kneeling Draco Malfoy. 

“Oh, do wipe that befuddled look off your face, Potter. You’ve only been teasing me with this thing all term,” Malfoy complains, reaching up to grope at Harry’s erection. 

“Harry!” Hermione admonishes, sounding entirely intrigued. “Is this true?” 

Harry does not have a single defense for his actions, but Malfoy doesn’t give him a chance to respond either way. “Relentlessly,” Malfoy tells Hermione conversationally, giving Harry’s cock a gentle squeeze. “It’s been an unending torment: The Chosen One flaunting his prick in my face morning, noon and night.” 

“That’s not very nice,” Hermione comments, avidly watching the movements of Malfoy’s hand. “That’s quite enough teasing, don’t you think, Harry?” 

Harry gulps, unaccountably nervous. 

Malfoy looks up at him, raises a supercilious eyebrow, silently demands, ‘well?’ 

Harry clears his throat, trying hard not to think about making an arse of himself, and clumsily opens his belt and trousers. Malfoy, apparently at the end of his patience, yanks them down and out of his way. Harry’s boxers quickly follow, and he feels a hot flush spread across his face when his dick bounces out, hard and ruddy. 

Months – years? – of fantasizing have done nothing to prepare Harry for the reality of Draco bloody Malfoy on his knees for Harry, holding his prick and smirking up at him. Malfoy gives him a long, slow stroke and drags his lips across Harry’s cock, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut and hopes desperately that he won’t come before he’s even inside Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy tongues his way up Harry’s prick enthusiastically, back down again. 

Harry balls his hands into fists, head thrashing. With his eyes closed, he is no longer confronted with the sight of his agonizingly hard prick waving in front of Malfoy’s eager face, but he can still feel him, still _hear_ his little ravenous noises of approval, and that might just be worse. He braces himself, opens his eyes, looks down. Malfoy has his hand wrapped around Harry’s prick, and is angling it towards his delicious little mouth. 

Harry groans involuntarily at the sight, and then again when Malfoy opens wide and sucks the tip into his mouth. He lavishes his tongue across the blushing head of Harry’s prick, licking up the dripping precome with a satisfied little hum. Harry would dearly like to make a pithy little comment about that quicksilver tongue finally being put to good use, but Malfoy dips his head low, takes nearly half of Harry’s cock into his mouth, and Harry finds he can’t say much of anything at all. He pants, watches Malfoy pull back with a long suck, and is only vaguely embarrassed at the lewd sounds that keep escaping his throat. Malfoy’s hot mouth descends again, taking even more of Harry’s cock this time, and Harry has to tear his eyes away in search of a distraction. 

Only, Hermione’s tie and shirt are both gone, and she is teasing a tantalizingly peaked nipple through the entirely sheer material of her black bra. Harry’s cock jerks alarmingly at the sight, but he finds himself incapable of looking away. Hermione watches Malfoy’s head bobbing over Harry’s cock eagerly, pinching her nipple with a breathless moan. 

Harry can feel his body tensing, straining, as he hurtles towards the edge. He looks down again, sees that some of Malfoy’s white-blond hair has fallen into his eyes, and gives in to the urge to touch. He sinks both hands into Malfoy’s delightfully soft hair, hissing when he feels the scrape of Malfoy’s teeth. "Godric, Malfoy,” he says, although he himself can’t tell whether he’s upset or sort of into it. He fists his hands in Malfoy’s hair, tugging firmly, and then again, harder, when Malfoy moans around his prick. Harry’s entire body shudders under the sensation, hips jerking, and when Malfoy doesn’t complain, he uses his grip in Malfoy’s hair to push his cock deeper into that brilliant mouth. 

Malfoy just moans and takes it. Looks to be rather enjoying himself, as a matter of fact. 

Harry feels his prick bump the back of Malfoy’s throat, and that’s pretty much it for him. Stars burst behind his eyelids and his hips jerk again and again, and he moans himself just about hoarse. It's the most intense, toe-curling orgasm of his life thus far, and Malfoy just keeps sucking him the entire way through. 

When Harry’s senses come back to him, he blinks his eyes open to see Malfoy shooting him a smug, cum-smeared grin from the floor. He’s just come in Malfoy’s mouth and the Slytherin Prince is fucking grinning about it. The chances that all of this is just a particularly convincing hallucination have just gone up drastically. But while he’s here... he has a very vivid image of himself licking and sucking that mess right out of Malfoy’s mouth, and he’s going to do it as soon as his limbs are obeying commands once more. Any moment now. 

Hermione sweeps in out of nowhere, though, yanking Malfoy’s head back by the hair and laying a filthy kiss on his swollen, pink mouth. From his position, Harry can see flashes of tongue, dripping spit and come. 

They’re so fucking dirty. He can hardly believe his luck. 

Hermione pulls away, gets a good look at the lust-addled expressions on both their faces, and smirks. She raises an eyebrow at them, reaching behind to unzip her plaid uniform skirt. It falls to the floor, pools around her socked feet, and Harry just stares some more. To be fair, she’s quite a sight. Clad in sheer bra and matching knickers, and her wonted over the knee socks, she looks like something out of a half-forgotten wet dream. Saliva pools in Harry’s mouth as he takes in her gentle curves, the sassy tilt of her hips, all that smooth brown skin on display. Hermione spins on one heel and slinks towards Malfoy’s bed. Malfoy rises to follow immediately, all flushed cheeks and eager hands. Harry tries to trail along, but is foiled spectacularly by his tangled trousers and pants. 

“Whoop!” he shouts, arms flailing comically as he goes down. After, Harry lies on the floor mortified and red-faced, thinking about being somewhere very, very far from here. 

Hermione and Malfoy peek at him over the edge of the bed, laughing uproariously, and Harry is considering whether Timbuktu would be far enough to escape this humiliating episode, but then Hermione brandishes her wand. “ _Accio_ Harry Potter,” she says, still laughing, and Harry doesn’t feel the least bit bad about landing halfway on top of her. 

Arseholes, the both of them. 

“Oh Harry,” Hermione says affectionately, shifting from underneath him. Malfoy is still giggling, and she looks distinctly amused, but they start working in tandem to strip Harry completely naked, so it’s hard to be very mad. Hermione gives an appreciative hum when they’re done, eyes trailing down Harry’s body at a leisurely pace. She traces her finger across his collarbone, down his chest to toy with a brown nipple. 

Pleasure zings through him in response. He’s tense, feeling newly conscious of the numerous scars littering his body. But Hermione doesn’t flinch or hesitate, doesn’t shy away from them, and Harry can feel himself relax a little. 

Surprisingly, it’s Malfoy who fails to be casual. "Potter, what...?” he whispers, something horrified lurking in his gaze. He reaches, hesitantly, and traces the circle of braided skin in the center of his chest. 

Harry says nothing. Wild thestrals couldn’t drag the story of Slytherin’s locket from him just now, but he does feel something unnamed rising in him at Malfoy’s uncharacteristic show of emotion. 

Malfoy looks up at Harry, searches for something in his eyes. Not sure what he’s looking for, Harry just looks back and hopes to Merlin that Malfoy isn’t about to roll out of this bed in disgust. Malfoy gulps nervously, cheeks flushed, and then leans down to kiss the center of the scar. The actual physical sensation is dulled, distant, but Harry hears himself gasp anyway. Malfoy closes his eyes and stays just where he is, lingering, laying kiss after kiss over the scar. 

Laying kiss after kiss over Harry’s heart. It’d be difficult, even for Harry, not to read into that one. 

He blinks, looks away, tries not to drown in the wave of emotion washing over him. When he turns his head and sees the look on Hermione’s face, so startled and intrigued, and he kisses her. He knows Malfoy can feel the erratic pounding of his heart, knows Hermione can see that his eyes are maybe just the _slightest_ bit wet, but he definitely does not want to talk about it right now. Hermione hardly seems to mind the distraction, and obliges him with gusto. Malfoy makes his way to suck Harry’s right nipple at the same moment Hermione sucks Harry’s bottom lip into her mouth, and muffled moans begin to spill out. 

He tries very hard not to hear the desperation in his own voice. 

They don’t seem to mind it, though. If anything, Malfoy’s mouth and hands become more forceful; Hermione’s kiss more passionate. Harry clutches at Malfoy’s hip, at Hermione’s hand, and just holds on. Hermione pulls out of their kiss, smiles at Harry, and tells Malfoy in no uncertain terms to hurry up and get his kit off. Malfoy huffs, climbs over Hermione, and begins to strip next to the bed. 

Gone is last night’s languid disrobing; his movements are jerky, sloppy. Harry watches, spooning up behind Hermione and wrapping his arms around her to unclasp her bra. She scoots back towards him, rubbing her improbably soft arse against his prick with a moan. Harry rolls his hips forward in response, instinctively holding her tighter as her back arches, loving the feel of those skimpy little knickers against his half-hard cock. Harry keeps an eye on Malfoy as he reveals more and more of his pretty pale skin, and keeps his hands on Hermione’s supple tits. Godric, Malfoy’s big cock looks delectable in those tight little pants. There’s a noticeable wet spot round the tip of Malfoy’s prick, and Harry thinks about putting his mouth just there, to taste and tease. To see what kinds of noises Malfoy will make when he’s at Harry’s mercy. The thought prompts a particularly vigorous thrust against Hermione’s arse. 

Hermione groans, pushing back against him in a dirty grind and grabbing hold of his right hand. He leaves his left where it is, cupping and squeezing and caressing Hermione’s breast, and lets her drag his right hand where she wants it. Fingers partially laced, they trace together down her ribs, across her belly, to the waistband of her knickers, and then underneath. 

It’s Harry’s turn to groan, running his fingers through Hermione’s neatly trimmed curls which are warm, and damp, and so, so soft. Malfoy echoes him, watching them with his hand in his pants, stroking himself slowly. “Godric, Hermione,” Harry says, hips pumping hard. 

She just sighs in response, pushing Harry’s hand lower until he touches slick, velvety flesh. He strokes the hood of her clit, glad to be on somewhat familiar ground. Maybe he hadn’t always felt confident doing this in the past, but if anyone can teach him the basics, it’s Hermione Granger. She rolls her hips forward against Harry’s fingers and then back against his cock, and even though he’s wrapped around her, it feels a lot like she’s the one fucking him right now. 

Harry dips his fingers lower, slides them through her folds, gets them delightfully wet, and then returns to rub gentle circles against her clit. Malfoy tugs down his pants, thick prick spilling out at the same moment, and Hermione jerks in his arms, stuttering out a surprised-sounding moan. Malfoy clambers onto the bed and there is quite a bit of shuffling; these beds weren’t exactly intended to facilitate threesomes, more’s the pity. In the end, Malfoy is pressed tightly to Hermione’s front, face buried in her tits. Hermione’s right leg is draped over Malfoy’s hip, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Harry’s left arm is trapped and basically useless, but he’s still got his right arm between their bodies, hand in Hermione’s knickers, feeling her get ever wetter as she writhes, hot and sweat-slick, between them. 

“God, Hermione,” he pants into her hair, lacking anything else to say. Malfoy hums, seemingly in agreement, not letting go of the dark nipple he’s sucked into his mouth. 

“Yes,” Hermione moans, thrashing. Harry ruts against her arse happily, rubbing harder between her legs as she begins to quiver. Her moans rise steadily, possibly due to some slick magic Malfoy is working with his tongue, but maybe the combined results of their efforts. She gets louder, and Harry can’t help but echo her, reveling in the sumptuous slide of her body against his. She crests, her voice rising until it breaks off, her body shaking deliciously between the two of them. Harry presses his fingers against her clit, letting her buck and squirm and twitch against them to her heart’s content. 

When she’s calm again, she gives a deeply satisfied hum and pats Harry’s hand. He gives her pussy one last stroke and then withdraws from her knickers. He’s thinking about sucking his fingers clean, but Malfoy snatches his hand out of the air seeker-fast and pops Harry’s soaking wet fingers into his mouth. Hermione moans at the sight and Harry gasps, cock twitching. 

Malfoy’s fucking amazing mouth will likely be the death of him. 

Malfoy looks up at Harry, a spark in his eye and a smirk around Harry’s fingers. It seems Harry had spoken aloud. He’d try to take it back, only Malfoy doesn’t give him much chance; he climbs over Hermione, pushes Harry flat on his back, and straddles him. 

When Malfoy takes both their pricks in his grasp and thrusts, Harry exclaims, “Fuck!” He doesn’t know where to look, skating his gaze across Malfoy’s pale skin, blushing pink with exertion. He looks at his cock sliding against Malfoy’s, watches as Hermione once again produces her wand out of nowhere. This time she drips conjured oil from the tip into Malfoy’s open hand. He grips them in both of his slippery hands, thrusting atop Harry all zeal and no finesse. “Fuck,” Harry says again, snapping his hips up and shoving his fingers deeper in Malfoy’s mouth. He’s fucking close, getting such a rush from seeing Malfoy undone like this, cheeks flushed and mouth open, panting. 

He’s beautiful, to be perfectly frank. 

Malfoy whines around his mouthful, eyes snapping up to Harry’s, and he thrusts faster and faster, squeezing them tighter. _Fuck, I’m about to make him come,_ Harry thinks dizzily, just as Malfoy makes a wounded noise shoots across Harry’s cock and belly. Harry follows him over the edge, bucking up against Malfoy frantically and probably babbling something embarrassingly effusive about how bloody hot he is. 

Malfoy blinks down at him blearily, looking like he is about to collapse right on top of Harry. Harry prepares himself for it, maybe even welcomes it, and finds himself disappointed when Malfoy rallies and gracelessly clatters out of bed. “I’m still angry with you,” Malfoy informs him, words belied by his distinctly calm and satiated demeanor. 

“Ugh.” Having entirely forgotten about his earlier conversation with Ron, Harry grunts unhappily at the reminder. He's too satisfied to be really upset, but he doesn’t love being made to feel like having a chat with his best mate is some sort of crime. “He was going to find out sooner or later, Malfoy,” he offers mildly, watching Malfoy bend over to retrieve some fresh pants out of his trunk. Godric, he’s _got_ to get his hands on that fantastic arse, and soon. 

Hermione looks up from her book – and _seriously_ , where the hell had it come from – and asks, “He? Surely you aren’t referring to Ronald.” She sits against the headboard, holding a weathered old tome and seeming only partially interested in the conversation. Because, scorching hot threesomes or not, she’s still Hermione Granger: ever in pursuit of more knowledge. Harry can’t help but smile at her, and she smiles back reflexively. 

Malfoy scoffs, but Harry has gotten good at ignoring that sort of thing. Malfoy just wouldn't be Malfoy if he weren’t occasionally snide and bratty. 

“I told Ron we shagged.” She takes a breath to speak, but he goes on, “Look, I know that in a perfect world I would never tell your ex-boyfriend about... us... but what was I meant to do? He was banging on about what a great friend I am, and how he doesn’t deserve my friendship! What was I meant to have done? Sat in silence, knowing I'd gotten a leg over his ex-girlfriend not two weeks after you’d split?” 

“Yes!” they insist simultaneously, he with a sneer and she with an exasperated sigh. 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Say what you will about Ron Weasley, but even he would eventually notice that I'd finally lost my-” he breaks off, clears his throat. "Virginity,” he finishes, embarrassed. 

Oddly, Malfoy drops everything in his arms. 

Hermione just shakes her head. “Honestly, Harry, I know very well that isn’t true.” 

Harry goggles at her, sputtering, “What are you talking about?” 

“Harry, Ginny told me all... about...” She gets a good look at Harry’s face and starts to lose steam mid-thought. “...Don’t tell me she was lying!” 

“Ginny wouldn’t...” he trails off too, as he quickly realizes that Ginny absolutely _would_ lie about this sort of thing. He blinks at Hermione, who seems to be coming to the same conclusion. 

The room is quiet as Harry’s mind runs wild, wondering what rumors Gin has spread about him this time. He doubts Ginny was being malicious; more likely than not she’s been spreading word of his (as yet undiscovered) sexual prowess, and perhaps a few more preposterous tattoos. 

Hermione and Malfoy share a very long look, but before Harry can break the silence with some inane rambling about homework, Malfoy abandons his shower things on the floor and gets back in bed. There is more awkward repositioning, and when Harry tries to resist, he nearly gets a knee to the groin. He lets them push and pull him this way and that, ending up sandwiched between them. Malfoy lies against the wall, half draped atop Hary. Hermione looks mournfully at her book, seeming rather torn between this impromptu cuddle session and what is clearly a riveting evening read. 

Harry’s throat is full of denials, of prideful claims that this unsolicited cuddling (and coddling) is entirely unnecessary. But even he is aware that this feels fucking good, if a bit weird. What comes out instead is a request to borrow Hermione’s wand. She hands it over without a blink, and he swishes, flicks, and incants the modified levitation charm he’d recently mastered. The charm is intended to hold a book in place, within the reader’s view, hands-free. 

“Huh,” Malfoy says from where he is curled around Harry, sounding very nearly impressed. 

Hermione looks up at her perfectly positioned book, perplexed and perhaps the slightest bit offended. “I don’t recall that spell being in the assigned reading for Charms.” 

Malfoy huffs against Harry’s collarbone, clearly amused by the idea that Harry knows a spell that Hermione does not. Harry shivers involuntarily. 

Who could have imagined it would be so nice to be held by Draco Bloody Malfoy? 

Shaken by his own thoughts, Harry responds to Hermione instead. He uses her wand to summon the text he’d found the spell in over the summer. “Found it in here, actually.” 

Looking more disturbed than ever, Hermione turns the book over in her hands. “Harry, this isn’t a textbook. Have you been... _studying on your own time_?” she asks, squinting incredulously. 

“I resent the tone of surprise,” Harry deadpans, and Malfoy laughs aloud this time, a gentle ‘hah!’ across Harry’s throat. Harry shudders again, harder. He ignores the way Malfoy holds him tighter in response. God, it feels nice to be pressed against him like this. “I’m perfectly capable of reading, I’ll have you know.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Well, yes, I was aware, thanks. I just meant that it’s rather unlike you to go above and beyond the required reading.” She thinks for a moment, shrugs, and adds, “Not when no one’s trying to kill you, anyway.” 

“And hardly even then,” Harry adds, because it’s not as if she’s wrong. If he tries really hard, he can pretend Malfoy didn’t squeeze him painfully when Hermione mentioned Harry’s tendency to draw certain danger like a magnet. Hermione lies down fully and relaxes into Harry’s side. The heavy tome adjusts automatically. 

It’s quiet after that. Despite himself, Harry relaxes. Hermione turns a page. Malfoy sighs, breath gusting pleasantly across Harry’s chest. Harry closes his eyes, doesn’t think about what the hell is happening here, and falls asleep between one breath and the next. 

\-- 

Harry wakes the next morning to the momentarily alarming sight of someone leaning just over his face, watching him. He blinks, relaxes when his blurry gaze focuses just enough to bring Draco mostly into focus. If he stops to think about it, that's the most alarming part of all, but he’s not thinking right now. Right now, he looks at Draco’s silver eyes, which seem unusually warm, and arches his neck for a kiss. 

Malfoy obliges him, pressing a gentle, closed-mouthed kiss to Harry’s slowly awakening lips. He hums, pulls back, doesn't quite smile, and Harry has to chase him for more. Harry’s kiss is a lot less close-mouthed, and he sort of enjoys the idea of Malfoy to having to suffer his morning breath. Malfoy struggles, tearing his mouth away with a disgusted laugh. Harry, faced with Malfoy’s pale neck, kisses it instead. “Ugh, Potter!” he protests grumpily, but doesn’t really try to get away. 

Harry rubs his morning erection against Malfoy’s hip, nipping at what appears to be a very sensitive patch of skin. Malfoy jerks, yanks Harry all the way on top of him, wraps his long limbs around him. Harry licks, sucks, worries the hot flesh with his mouth while Malfoy moans beneath him. Their cocks bump together and it’s slightly painful and fucking wonderful in turns. 

Malfoy is murmuring something between moans, but he’s clutching Harry so tightly, undulating in his arms, and Harry can’t make much sense of it. He can’t fucking believe Malfoy is letting him do this, even if he is complaining at the same time. The words, “fuck you, Potter,” break through Harry’s aroused haze, but they only encourage him. 

“God, yes,” Harry responds, caught by the image of Malfoy opening him up with that fat prick of his. The thought of lying beneath him, being held down, made to just take it, makes Harry feel hot all over. “Want you to,” he adds, rutting hard against Malfoy and biting down. 

Malfoy tenses, keens, and comes explosively between their bodies. Harry is moments away from following him, when suddenly Malfoy is no longer wrapped around him. He shoves at Harry, now genuinely trying to escape his hold, and Harry has no choice but to let him go. 

He watches Malfoy clamber out of bed and stumble to the ensuite, griping something about ‘late’ and ‘breakfast’ and ‘shower,’ but nothing about Harry’s aching prick. _What an arsehole_ , he thinks, taking himself in hand with an air of resignation. Then he hears the shower come on, and notices that Malfoy has left the door open. 

He hops out of bed as well, hungry for the sight of Malfoy’shot body, slippery and wet and flushed pink. 

They are, of course, late for breakfast.

\---


End file.
